Chronically Incorrect
by ellequoi
Summary: Severus Snape talks about his life, followed by Lily, Sirius, Remus Lupin & Minerva McGonagall. AU, OOC, & cowboys ensue. To me, it's pretentious & irredeemable, but the reviews were smart, insightful & surprisingly positive. Maybe I'm missing something.
1. At The Beginning

At The Beginning  
  
I started out simply enough. A cave, a girl just into her teens, and I, the product of her and a fellow whom I always thought of as Joe the Canadian. I've always had a good memory; good enough to warrant being born as my first memory. I once came across a book that stated people never remembered being born because it was so traumatic that their mind just snapped, like an elastic band, and started anew.  
  
Being born was not quite traumatic as the that specific book mentioned. It just was not something I would've wanted to repeat. But, through the strange proceedings that brought my memory around to that point, I recall things from when I was a baby. My poor mother, whom I've mentioned, was thirteen when I was born- born on her own birthday, in March.  
  
When I was born, she carved the day, date, and year firmly into a wall of the cave, and threw the calendar she'd been keeping to record and understand her pregnancy out into the slush puddles. She also must have written 'Joseph Severus Snape Riddle' on the wall for our benefit, as I found this on the wall some years later.  
  
Both of us lived and grew up in that cave. The cave was surrounded by what was surely a hunting wood with a brook and meadow rolled up in a neat package. The meadow consisted of much grass and wild horses. When I learned to walk, I also learned to ride bareback, swim, hunt, and fish. Exactly how Mother knew these skills to begin with was always a curiousity with me.  
  
The only way she kept track of the days was the language she'd speak to me. She knew most European languages, having, as I learned later, grown up with them. Although her mother tongue was English, she also knew German, French, Portuguese, Italian and Spanish. Every day she'd choose one of the languages to speak to me, in the hopes I would learn them too, I suppose. She passed down just about everything she knew to me, although I never quite understood how she'd manage to cram all those skills into thirteen years.  
  
The life I lived then would have been idyllic to a hunter, and absolute hell for a prince. The way my mother would sometimes attempt to distract me from something and entertain me was disastrous enough. "Look, Sev!" she'd say, "See what I can do!" Then she'd pull out her wand, and blast something to smithereens, or make it twitch with pain, or a Dark curse. I supposed she thought I was at a stage of life where anything gruesome would make me exclaim, "Wow! Gross! How'd you do that?"  
  
I did memorize the curses for future reference, but I never did give her the aforementioned reaction.  
  
So that was my life- while people were caught up in love, drugs and war, I'd be sleeping in the night on dirt or rock, with raw meat in my stomach.  
  
Reading this over, it really does sound boring. Maybe it's just because I was the one living that life. I think I'm probably chronically incorrect, someone like me.  
  
After all, in looks I'm in another galaxy from the clichéed hero. Yes, I'm very tall with a slightly muscular build. Unromantically, I have greasy, long black hair which I've never washed because I don't know how, and am too ashamed to ask help with. I have eyes that resemble the eyes of some beetles I've had to eat- they're such a dark brown. My teeth are slightly pointy and stained yellow. My nose looks like I've transplanted it with a hark's beak. And I look like a gawd-awful vampire because my skin has turned so pale.  
  
I know I could take the effort to remedy several of these things, but why bother? Not looking nice always makes it easier for people to hate you, and many people love to hate me.  
  
Maybe that's a bit pessimistic. I've never had a way with words anyway; never tried. Education is what really erodes innocence.  
  
But being a simple, indigenous heathen was my happy first decade of life; oddly innocent for a man who became so corrupted.  
  
Then I went to Hogwarts- my mother hoped it would be my salvation.  
  
I found it to be my greatest damnation. 


	2. To Cowboys

To Cowboys  
  
I stepped off the small bus that had led us down the rickety road to Little Hangleton. I wasn't quite sure exactly how it was that Dad had decided to come here. Something to do with an inheritance left to us by Great Aunt Maisie- a cottage? Dad had told me, on the sly, that he was going to leave me the cottage, and I could hang a quaint little sign up to say 'Lily Evans- Rolled Up Into One Neat Package'.  
  
I never did quite get that. Perhaps it really wasn't funny at all, but something that Dad wanted to puzzle me with. I always have been my father's girl, certainly. Petunia and Ash (who my mother wanted to name after a flower, but my father protested for his son's masculinity) always seemed much more partial towards Ma.  
  
As usual with Ma, we got hopelessly lost, so Dad went and dropped her off at the local pub. 'Pena' (the nickname Ash had coined for her when learning to talk) was just old enough to find this funny at the time, and Ash & I giggled because she did. Ash was at the stage when parents seemed hopelessly old, and older siblings were just big enough to render great respect. And I? Well, I mostly loved to follow Pena around.  
  
Dad eventually found the cottage as well as he could with a bored teenager, giggly girl and squabbling boy. At the time, Pena was fourteen, I was ten, and Ash was only seven. We were all hot and bothered, not to mention very confused. We'd been living in America for the past nine years, and British customs and accents made us feel hopelessly lost.  
  
But after we got food in our stomachs, and a cool fan towards our sweaty faces, we were content enough to want to explore the area. Dad excused himself from this, saying he had to pick Ma up. Which made us all the more excited, since it wasn't often the three of us got time alone. We planned to milk this opportunity for all that we could get out of it.  
  
It wasn't long before I found out there was a nearby meadow, with wild horses to boot. Although none of us were equestrians in any way, horses held great appeal for us at the time. We were all innocently conceited to the extent that we figured that horses were just animals, like our cat Sparks, and how hard was the mild Sparks to handle? We got the impression, in a few short minutes, that all you'd have to do was climb on the horse, and there you were.  
  
The Calgary Stampede I'd once wanted to go to had had the horses that could shake you off in five seconds and crush you in the next minute.  
  
Too bad I never did get to go, and prove it for myself before then.  
  
So Pena, Ash and I all started tromping through the woods that surrounded this meadow. It was long and hard work, that involved much getting lost. Just before we gave up, we found the meadow, and weren't disappointed. It was beautiful, better than any calendar pictures I'd ever seen. Long grass fluttered around lazily in patches, as if beckoning the horses to eat. And the horses themselves were magnificent creatures with glossy coats and flaring nostrils.  
  
We chose our horses, and I glanced at Pena's face several times as we climbed our horses as we would a haystack, and I brought Ash up with me. Pena looked very apprehensive, and mainly looked at Ash. At the time, I thought it was simply doubt, to see if Ash had the will to continue with the horse riding. Looking back, I feel like whacking my head on a wall.  
  
The minute I lifted Ash onto the horse, it- as if out of mere spite- then decided to buck like crazy. I yelled, and tried with all my might to stay on. With my scant knowledge of horses, all I did was to cling on to Ash and the horse with all my strength. I was twitching uncontrollably on the horse, thumping against the  
I could feel myself slipping, and shielded Ash so that when I fell, he might not get hurt.  
  
I closed my eyes to prepare for the last moments, when I suddenly heard a shout. It was too rough a voice to be Pena's, and in fact sounded like a male. I opened one eyes for several seconds, and saw a half naked tall boy- young man, really- leaping onto a horse and speeding towards us. He stood up while the horse was moving, and several seconds later, grabbed Ash from me, and propped me up on my horse slightly higher. He rode close to Petunia, leaning perilously off his horse to hand Ash to her.  
  
He had the look of a hunter to him; unwashed longish black hair, a skin that was losing a dark tan to the cloudy weather, a sharp hawk-like nose, a muscular yet lean body, leather trousers and black eyes, narrowed with concentration. From the glance I got of him, he looked perhaps fifteen or sixteen. I've never been good at judging ages. He drove his horse towards me, and jumped right in front of me on my horse.  
  
"Cling to my back," he instructed hoarsely, in a voice that didn't quite sound British. I nodded, and wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. All the meantime, the horse was wildly bucking, and all I had to keep me on was this fellow, who looked as if he'd just come out of the sixth century.  
  
I ground my teeth together as he whooped ecstatically with each movement of the horse. He seemed to be... enjoying himself. Sure as heck I wasn't, though. I felt disoriented, and like my brains were going through a liquifying process. An optimist would have at least been thinking, 'Well, at least I'm alive and not crushed to dust.'  
  
I've never really been that person.  
  
My mysterious savior had seemed to accustom himself to the horse's movement by now. He stood up quickly, still keeping his balance and with me clinging on. Then, he did the most amazing gymnastics I've ever come across.  
  
This teenager, or so I thought he was, with no warning, did a flip off the horse and as I screamed my lungs out. When he landed in a crouch on his feet, my throat hurt and I started to bawl my eyes out.  
  
"You'll want to be getting back from the woods about now," he told us matter-of-factly. "I'll lead you out now." He didn't seem to notice us staring at him, slack-jawed and disbelieving.  
  
"Wait," said Petunia, her voice strangely gentle. "What's your name?"  
  
"Snape," he croaked. "Severus Snape."  
  
I held out my hand to him to shake, but he just looked at it, clearly puzzled. He grasped my hand in his large hands, and smiled at me with sharp, slightly pointed teeth. I found this gesture oddly touching, not done with the pretense of a handshake, but rather more personal.  
  
"Lily Evans," I introduced myself. "My little brother there is Ash, and my sister Pena." He grunted, and I continued, "Remember the names; we may meet again."  
  
"That we may," he said, then turned abruptly towards the direction of the outside world. "Follow me."  
  
And we did.  
  
And I've always thought of him as Cowboy, and I will always call him that.  
  
And the toast I give at my graduation? Not to my true love, my friends, my teachers...  
  
To Cowboys. 


	3. Shades of Black & White

Shades of Black & White  
  
  
So here I was, starting Hogwarts. Match (my sister Matilda) was very pleased at this.  
  
"It's a whole new world, Sirius!" she exclaimed as she ironed my robes. "You'll learn lots. And Mum and Dad would have been so proud of you!" She looked mistily off to nowhere and sighed, while I quickly unplugged the almost-steaming iron; burnt robes aren't going to help me anytime soon.  
  
"As long as I get a good muse," I grinned.  
  
Match sighed; she knew all too well about my 'muses'. She fished in her robes, and pulled out a small book.  
  
"Here," she said firmly, handing it to me.  
  
I stared at it blankly. "And this would be..."  
  
"Your new journal, which you're going to write in every day, of course."  
  
Match beamed. I did not.  
  
  
  
___FIRST YEAR___  
September 1st:  
  
Went on train; impressive in a way. Met new best friend, James Potter. Met new friend Remus Lupin with him. So we were cruising train before it left when we come across this pretty red head, our age, sleeping. So James goes up to her and kisses her right on the mouth. She wakes up, and doesn't seem to find him much of a Prince Charming, heh heh.  
  
Other chap came into the car then. Very vampire, Goth look, very tall- a teenager? Seemed a bit foreign like the redhead, & I saw him speaking what sounded like Italian to a younger woman before. James' Sleeping Beauty (never going to stop calling her that now, probably) called him Cowboy, don't see how that worked. Said he was starting this year, surprise surprise.  
  
Only two we met there (not very good company), & all of us stayed and sat. The girl fell asleep again, the Goth stared out the window, the three of us ate and played Exploding Snap.  
  
Huh. Not trying to waste words here, for sure. Went over lake in dinky small boats, very alarming with high wind. Hogwarts is impressive, great stone castle, amazing Great Hall. 1st years tried on tattered hat, yelled out the house. The hat yelled out the house, that is, not the 1st year. Except one girl, Brittania Malfoy, who was so confident she'd be Slytherin she yelled it out first. Whole Hall laughed, probably embarrassing. Malfoy was Slytherin anyway, also fellow from train, Severus Snape. Remus, James, his sleeping beauty (Lily Evans), & I in Gryffindor.  
  
Four houses here:  
-Salazar Slytherin's is for ambition, classified as the worst, evil house  
-Godric Gryffindor's, bravery, classified as good, best, house  
-Rowena Ravenclaw's. Smarts. 2nd best.  
-Helga Hufflepuff's. Loyalty. 3rd best, said to be 'bunch of duffers'.  
Mainly, the Gryffindors are considered the best, and the Ravenclaws & Hufflepuffs will back them up against the Slytherins. My impression is that color-wise, the Gryffindors are white, the Slytherins are black, and the Ravenclaws & Hufflepuffs are faded, uncontroversial shades of grey. Why? G. & S. are considered strongest. Tho' that doesn't say much. So really, then, WHY?  
  
You know, I really should owl Match and ask her what houses we Blacks are usually in.  
  
  
  
October 15th:  
  
New dub for book: Log Book. Girls are the ones with journals & diaries & such drivel, I protest for my masculinity.  
  
Since I have my muses (form of J. Potter & R. J. Lupin), splendid tricks have popped up. We've had to make a list, several metres long at that. Even rivals Hagrid's height. If ever we get a break in our work, we're carrying it out come Halloween.  
  
Pettigrew, in our house, following the three of us lately. Just slightly more unnerving than James' attention towards his Briar Rose. Not sure whether Pettigrew can be trusted, anyway, although he keeps on disappearing (luckily) than reappearing (unluckily). Then, he'll tell us stuff about the Slytherins, Snape especially. Think he dislikes Snape, probably because he has to look up one and a half feet to see his face, being of a short and tubby build. He tells us Snape can't read or write.  
  
We're getting a new timetable rotation after Halloween; getting a few of those, actually. Now, it's just Gryffindor 1st years taking classes together. After this, it's Slytherin until Valentine's. Hufflepuff from then till April Fool's. Ravenclaw for the rest of the year. I like that idea, I really do. What better way to charm and wow the world than to start with all the first years?  
  
  
  
___FOURTH YEAR___  
July 4th:  
Huh, what do you know. I lose this diary (been right here in my bookshelf four years, ha ha!), and then it comes back to haunt me. Well, if only it did haunt. That would have been interesting, I could tye-dye the ghost red, white and blue (like Lily WILL insist from us all for her little 'Independence Day'), enlarge it, and set it lose in... hm, let's say the staff room?  
I have to find Professor Binns.  
..._...  
Hahah! Success. Although suspicion goes immediately out to us poor innocent Gryffindors, us practically being the only people out here, but what odds. It's Independence Day, let's celebrate. That was the reason why I was looking in my bookshelf anyway- Lily asked James and I, the certified school jesters, to scare up some fireworks for her favorite hol. Even if I had wanted to say no, James would not have let me.  
  
So she's happy now, she's had her celebration. Although the rest of us are sort of irked that we're in school for the summer (serving detention, if you will). So maybe it was only us fourth year Gryffindors who were CAUGHT that at I at least know of, but that doesn't mean there were more people in it. Other students were in it too; Brittania Malfoy and Severus Snape being the only other two I can think of. Both of them together were brilliant masterminds. For one thing, Snape developed the incantation we used to set off the raining of the potion from the Great Hall.  
  
I'll start from the beginning.  
  
It started with the plan. James' plan. Malfoy's plan. Professor Binns' plan. The Bloody Baron's plan. In other words, I can't really remember who it was who thought up the plan. Whatever it was, it started out simple: a Rain Dance, a special Potion to be the rain, and a trigger word to set it off.  
  
So we were in a Divination class with the Slytherins. Strangely, all the Gryffindors signed up for Divination, yet only Snape and Malfoy- best friends- did, from Slytherin. All the better, that stuffy little attic would have been evicted in case of fire if it was in the Muggle world. We were all bored and hot and tired and sleepy in Divination; Malfoy was lazily levitating a snoring Peter, no mean feat considering his weight. I think the class is cursed, I swear. Never been interesting yet, what a disappointment.  
  
It probably started with the rain that came during the class. Whatever 'twas, took no more than five minutes to spread it around and get us wide awake. Malfoy dropped Peter loudly- he didn't wake, and the Prof, who was a heavy sleeper herself, didn't either, all the better for us. So all of us gathered into a tight circle, and began planning. I could feel the reluctance against letting the two Slytherins join, but they couldn't help but hear anyway- and Malfoy was casually bossing us around, in a way. Besides, Snape always could ease his way into conversations smoothly.  
  
So that was the group of us, the 1st fourth year Divination class- the second being Ravenclaw, the third Hufflepuff. We were all very absorbed in the plan, and James & I didn't have any time to study Animagi techniques. Remus didn't include himself in our plan, and when he did, it was a very half-hearted attempt. He was excused from our detention afterwards, because, as the whole school knew, his mother was very ill. Why else did he go off each month if not to visit her, after all. Precious few knew Remus' real reason for leaving.  
  
We chose Peter to do the rain dance, Snape to make the Hair-Raising Potion, and Malfoy said the trigger word. The rest of us helped to steal what we'd need for the prank. It went through at the last night of school, dinnertime. Everything went successfully, although the rest of us had to sacrifice our own hair to the potion ourselves. Brittania's hair looked hilarious, she having ringlets. The potion was very potent, actually; Snape did a good job there.  
  
But SOMEHOW, we were ratted out, and I do not think Dumbledore was very happy. He was certainly mad enough to take away our summer vacation, although at least we get Hogsmeade trips every two weeks.  
  
At least? What am I saying?  
  
Anyway, I've only seen us Gryffindors in the school, so Snape and Malfoy must have gotten away with it; which makes me so mad! How come they got away with their summers?  
  
I really, really don't like them both now. May they suffer at the end of my wand and pranks.  
  
-S. Black 


	4. This Endangered Life

This Endangered Life 

He had not known much about what had happened–not as if he ever did, of course. The only reassurance for his oblivion was that Peter knew less, poor boy. 

Sirius had briefed him on it by saying, "The idiot actually believed me. Went straight up to the Willow, deactivated it, and went through. James went in after him & pulled him out, but you would think James'd fed him to you piece by piece. Course, Snape raised a fuss." 

James had been less casual, and gave a far better account of the situation: 

"Well, Sirius sent Snape through the tunnel, although I don't think Snape really knew what he was getting into. I went after him to pull him, and he put up a bit of a fight." James gestured at a swollen black eye that Remus had already noticed. "He said that if Sirius had thought it a matter interesting enough to send him through, at least he should get more of a chance to observe it. Wasn't a bit scared, either. It was really quite a job to bring him back through. 

"Then, when I'd dragged him back out, he headed out to look for the headmaster. Never even bothered to release my grip on him, so he was dragging me forward a bit. You know how he is, strong but without regard to hurting a chap. So I let go, obviously–followed him as he went up. I don't think he actually knew where Dumbledore's office was to begin with, though that didn't seem to stop him. 

"I couldn't tell whether Snape was actually angry or not, but he looked sort of shocked. Naturally! We met Dumbledore then–thank God–and I explained, but Snape cut me off, and he laughed in Dumbledore's face. Horrible, like Lord Voldemort, I thought, spine chilling. 

" 'You will do nothing, and because your golden boys have been the criminals. You shock me, but what does that matter? I take up your space, breathe your air, and continue to live. To think that I almost didn't.' Then he went off. 

"Dumbledore looked shocked, too, and angry, although I wasn't sure at what. Sirius, playing a stupid prank? Snape, being himself? Look, I am sorry about all this; I don't think we ever realized what was going on. There have been a lot of meetings since then, with Sirius and Snape and I, and the rage at each one rises." 

That had been were James ended off, and if Remus hadn't been so exhausted from his transformation, he would have wanted a few more details. He felt drained of all energy and stayed sitting in the hallway long after the sun set. James left eventually to make his rounds as a prefect. That was his given excuse; Remus knew that even though his friends did love him, lyncanthropy was an iron door that barred them the intimacy they wanted between one another, and it terrified them. It was draining and no matter how much empathy they had, even being his friend was a burden and they had to keep their distance so often they became estranged. Every single time, it took so much out of him, and even more out of them. 

And now this: Sirius could be thoughtless even to his friends, and so cruel to his enemies. As he stretched out his arms and yawned, his shabby robes sleeve slid down, revealing a pale, heavily scarred arm. Remus took deep, almost sobbing breaths, wishing he had taken up meditation the previous summer like his mother–very healthy, contrary to popular belief–had suggested. Inner peace sounded so desirable just then, and so unattainable. 

He gave a start as he saw a tall, dark figure striding down the hallway. It could only be a teacher, or Snape, the only tall student at Hogwarts to grow into his height gracefully. Remus had once wondered how old Severus Snape actually was; he'd arrived at Hogwarts looking fully adolescent. 

As the figure neared, and stopped in front of him, Remus saw the last person he wanted to deal with, and sighed. 

"You should get to the hospital wing." A tone of mild reproach, which surprised Remus. He'd expected rip-roaring rage, and an agonizing mental trashing. Snape's idea of retaliation was enough to make any warm-blooded creature shiver. 

Remus didn't ask why he should go to the hospital wing; he knew what a wreck he looked like. Besides, Snape was the one in Medical Magic, not him. 

"You aren't, though. Am I hindering you? I'll go," Snape said. 

Remus waved an almost-translucent hand. "No need," he said. After all, misery loves company, even in the form of a notorious Slytherin whom miserable Remus could have ripped to shreds. 

Snape crouched down beside him. "No need for what, exactly? Going to the infirmary, or my leaving?" 

"Either, I suppose." There was silence for several seconds.  
  
"Sirius Black has been murdering me for a while now. Ever since the beginning of this year, there have been hostile outbreaks, actually. Would you know why, perchance?" he asked softly. "Enlighten me." 

Remus shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I don't know," he mumbled. "Must've been something in the summer, after that prank of yours. I guess you know where I was then." 

"I got permission to camp out in the woods, so that was where Britannia Malfoy and I went. The others didn't want Slytherins around. We were all happy... my mother included." 

"Yes, Lily must have been so glad to see you go," said Remus. "She has no Gryffindor friends and you left her to the wolves." 

"She wanted to stay back at the school," said Severus. "Perhaps she wished to make the acquaintance of her housemates." 

They fell silent again, for how long they didn't know. 

Remus broke the silence with, "What time is it?" 

Snape got up reluctantly and looked out the window. "Probably a few hours after sunset?" 

"Did you really sass Dumbledore?" 

"I was acting as could be expected after what had happened." 

"Any points off?" said Remus, meaning it as a joke. Snape took it seriously. 

"No. I caught him by surprise. He gave me no reaction when I was telling him, but shone kindness down on me. It was patronizing, unhelpful, and did nothing to aid the situation." Snape slammed his hand against the stone floor for emphasis, his low voice as definite as a child defying his parents. 

"Must've helped your situation, I'm sure. From James' account of it, you've been pretty angry." Might as well cut to what he'd been dreading for the whole conversation. "Do you think I'm that bad?" 

"Don't worry. I knew where you'd been; I knew you were a werewolf. That was enough for me. So I stayed where I was, and mulled on it for a few seconds, when that idiot came down." 

"He's my friend," protested Remus, smiling in the darkness. Snape's caustic humour amused him. 

"The idiot savant came down after me, which was quite unnecessary. I was quite safe, and I had no intention of letting James take some kind of credit for 'risking his life to save me'. I didn't need saving, simply, and I really didn't want it. So, I half-heartedly put up a fight. But he got me up, anyway." 

"I don't think I'll tell him that. He's been pleased as punch lately, talking about saving you." 

"Presumably, it makes him even more of a martyr that I'm so ungrateful," Snape sneered. "It's a good thing you're a loup-garou, Lupin, otherwise this would be greatly publicized." 

"No one has ever told me it was fortunate that I was a werewolf." He could not believe his ears. 

"Now someone has," Snape pointed out, as he was often apt to do. 

Lupin chuckled in disbelief. 

"I meant it," Snape snapped. 

"Yeah, sorry. But, back to the anger management classes." 

Snape seemed puzzled. "What?" 

Lupin grinned. "Nothing. What of all these meeting you've been having?" 

"Sirius intended to kill me...sick bastard." 

"He is my friend. This will get back to him."  
  
"If you have a backbone in you, you know he oughtn't be your friend much longer. Attempted murder, if you believe it–and I never even knew I could die! Are you as angry as I am? My life, treated with so little regard, and now that the joke is _funny_–if you cannot distinguish from blatant stupidity–it's unbearable. But of course, everyone is so blinded by the blood-&-mustard scarves that they laugh and wipe their boots on this endangered life." He gave another exhalation of bitter laughter. 

"You were the one claiming they were harmless." 

"Of course. They couldn't find their way out of a box with a top. According to them, I was about to be viciously decapitated. It is not fair, Remus, to you or me. When I try to tell them that James hasn't helped anything, they laugh. You would be better off telling them." 

"_What_?" 

Snape sighed, running his hand through his hair. "That wasn't fair, I know. I apologize. You get the sharp end of the stick here, I know." 

"No," said Remus, trying to make amends, "Sirius attempted your life. You are allowed to feel angry. I don't really have anything to do with it." 

"Sirius _used_ you. You were his tool, and you will welcome him with open arms, I know it. Listen, people know you and they like you. Friends are no problem for _you_, but your friends are your problem. They may have been the first people who accepted you, but they won't be the last. You don't need them. 

"Break rank, Remus!" yelled Snape, and his voice rose higher as he became animated and strode the length of the corridor. Remus understood now why James had compared him to Lord Voldemort. He could see the same persuasion and fanaticism in Snape. "Burn your bridges _now_ and you'll never need to turn back ever again. With us you will be more than tolerated, accepted–you will be embraced! You could be Minister of Magic if your friends weren't dragging you down. The first werewolf to be Minister, Remus, think of what you could do, who you could be..." 

He broke off, breathing heavily, and Remus took the opportunity to move away. He felt as if he had been shrinking while Snape had been talking, for suddenly Snape dwarfed him, a large dark shadow that loomed threateningly. 

"This is what you wanted, then?" whispered Remus. "You didn't come to tell me I wasn't a monster or a killer just because I wanted to hear it. No, you came to take me from my friends and turn me into _you_. Well, I don't want to be you." His voice rose, echoing off the walls. "I DON'T WANT TO BE A SLYTHERIN!" 

Snape crumpled to the floor and curled into a sitting position. 

"Neither do I," he said, subdued. "What are we to do? What?" He laid his head against Remus' shoulder and, for once, his friends held no influence over him, for he felt no urge to nauseate himself by imagining the horrible condition of Snape's hair. 

"You know what the sorting hat said to me?" Snape mused. "It told me, 'You aren't properly loyal. Ideas are what hold your faith. Ambition, that's you. However, wait, let us go further: you're good with languages, and you're brave. You _could_ be good in Gryffindor, but you're far too brave.' And I asked it, 'Too brave? How can that be? I'm not brave at all. I have none of these traits. I don't want them.' 

"And it said to me, 'If you don't think you're brave, that's Gryffindor Yes, ideas hold your faith. Nothing but the best for you.' I've been wondering about that lately." 

"I wouldn't have to," said Remus quietly. "I don't know how you can't see it. You should have seen yourself just then, Snape. You're Voldemort. Slightly less ugly and powerful, maybe, but it is there." 

Snape shook his head. "No, I'm not," he insisted. "I'd die before I became a demon like him. I wouldn't do that." He gripped Remus' arm. "Believe me, I won't. Kill me when I do, Remus, swear to kill me if it happens." 

"Why me?" said Remus. "I think we've had enough contact with each other now, thanks." In truth, Snape was starting to frighten him. 

"May as well finish what you started." 

Remus stared at Snape. "That was unfair." 

Apologizing again, Snape sighed. 

"Discontent breeds in us all," he said. "Dumbledore let you in the school when no one else would because that is what bolsters his esteem." 

"Because he feels sorry for me, you're saying?" 

"Yes. He tries to take over hopeless cases to give him a sense of success. He does it so he can look at people and claim their glory for his own. He thinks without him, they would be destitute. I denounce him!" he spat, rising. Against the moonlight radiating from the window, the clenching of his fists looked sinister. His profile, magnificent and war-like, shone out at Remus, the nose clearly defined. 

"You're being unfair again," said Remus. 

"And you're being far too fair," Snape countered. He sat down again. 

Yawning, Remus leaned against him, realizing how tired he was. 

"I've exhausted you, haven't I?" whispered Snape. "I do that to people... let's get you to bed." He lifted Remus up in his arms and carried him the entire way to the Fat Lady's portrait. "What is the new password?" 

"Not telling," mumbled Remus. " 'D only use it to your 'vantage. Sneak up on us." 

Snape laughed. "Oh, I would find out anyway, and I won't leave you here unguarded. You're rather vulnerable, after all." 

"Am not...big bad wolf...don't need protection." 

"I'll stay here until you go in." 

Opening one eye with great effort, Remus looked at him, blinking. "Serious?" 

"If I do anything, send me to the Whomping Willow." 

"_My_ tree. Doesn't want you." 

"Who knows?" said Snape. "Maybe one day you won't need it." 

"Unlikely," Remus said. "Wake portrait now...password's _Ursa_." 

Snape carried him through the portrait hole, into the Common Room, to a chesterfield. He brushed Remus' hair back from his face and drew a blanket over him, and left. 

_____________ 

Remus yawns as the owl pecks at his window. He drags himself off his couch and opens the window a bit. The small owl flies in, and releases a package from its claws. Remus rips up the covering, and uncovers a small bottle with a potion. Enclosed is a small note: 

December 24th, 1981  
Remus: potion cure, Wolfsbane (told you that you wouldn't need the Willow). Take right before sunset, day of full moon. ADD NOTHING. Good luck; happy Christmas.  
S. Snape 

Remus raises his eyebrows; Severus Snape has been missing for almost two months now. Ever since the Potters–he knows he should force himself to say it, but he cannot; in fact, he tries not to think about it at all. He wonders where Snape is, surprised to receive the Potion. It goes in his pantry for several days until needed. 

Putting more trust in Snape than he has ever given to his failed friends–so Snape had been right–he follows the instructions. When it works, it surprises him to be surprised. He sends an enthusiastic letter to Snape, who ignores it completely. 

Come the next full moon, he sends another dose, wishing Remus a happy new year. 

The packages keep arriving routinely–happy Valentine's, Easter, spring–never answering the question always asked: "Where are you?" 

Remus dutifully takes the potion, choking down its foul taste each time. Once he tries adding sugar, but never repeats this experiment again. 

But every now and then, the potions are sent already sweetened, and work all the better. 

END


	5. On Just A Smile

ON JUST A SMILE

You came late that first lesson, cheeks flushed as if from sexual encounters. It made you look healthy; nothing else about you did except your smile, the one that won you Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award. No one would believe it, now, I know, but that's your own fault. It was almost comical that you and Gilderoy Lockhart should be the only two Slytherin boys of your year, because there was no greater contrast. He was dashing, golden, swashbuckling and very conceited, while you made yourself attractive and charming when need be, protected the people that needed it and didn't believe all the good things said about you.

You disrupted my class from the start: falling asleep on Lily Evan's shoulder, participating when no one else would, Transfiguring quickly so you could leave class early. That is what piqued my interest in you, that you infuriated me so.

Teaching only the sixth year that term, I had time to investigate my students. In your files, I discovered the reason James Potter and Sirius Black didn't like you and your incredible Divination skills, the ones that predicted the ways everyone in the school would be affected by Voldemort; I read it twenty years later and you were right, and I concede to your Divination skills.

You were the most well-liked person in the school, something that had needed either careful planning or spontaneous goodwill. Unaware of your popularity as you were, I would opt for the latter, which you performed either coldly or sincerely without fanfare. You often sat at other tables when you ate, and somehow you, a Slytherin, were welcomed.

You were never a proper Slytherin in terms of ambition, but you were confident and higher things snuck upon you. You probably didn't mean for it to happen. Maybe you were the luckiest person I ever knew. Maybe you made things happen without trying. Why try to understand it when happy oblivion could explain it away?

I wished you could have stayed for class longer. I wanted to see more of you, and for some reason the class morale went down when you left. I tried to make you several times, but when I did another teacher would reprimand me for making you late to another class. You must have spent very quick cameos in each class to be in all of them, but got good marks. Some of your classes were Advanced-level while others were Ministry regulations like Fine Arts.

One night you were sleepwalking and I found you and brought you to my room. You were yelling when you awoke, as if in the thrall of some nightmare, and I soothed you to silence. I asked why when you woke and you said you got louder when the cold came. You told me about how as a child you used to wake from the cold and run several kilometers to a deserted spot where you could scream. I kissed you then, and so you left. There was always something innocent about you; you were a year younger than your classmates and grew too quickly.

When you left in May, leaving early once again, I asked you to write me. You looked at me silently and I got a letter the next night. Your letters were never purely English. There was always some foreign phrase absently slipped in, usually translatable. You'd write me with a Quick-Quotes Quill and sometimes other people speaking to you at the time got into the letter: your lawyer, your French maid, your little sister Charlene, your friend Petunia Evans and her brother. It made your letters alive in a way.

I wrote back, of course, but I never knew what to say. I stuck to safe topics like your friends and the papers I was marking. I could never be as interesting as you and everything you had. You had a timeless Muggle utopia that didn't include wizards, that no one could blame your leaving Hogwarts for. I can never express my wonder for your happy life away from here. I felt so guilty to be happy when I heard of your return to teach.

Without anything happening to either of us, our letters slowly became long epistles. As August came upon us, I began to think about what should happen when we would meet at Hogwarts. It would be very different from when we last saw each other, and I was at a blank on how to act.

I went to Diagon Alley the next day, my mind drifting occasionally. I had just entered a shop I hadn't meant to go in when you saw me.

"Professor McGonagall!" you said, and gave me your award-winning smile, the one that no one would be aware of now. Your sister was with you, a toddler with already beautiful features, and your friend Lily Evans had accompanied you. I made all the right responses, and stayed with you during your shopping trip. We ate luscious sundaes at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor as you flirted with his daughter Florence. It was a warm day, and you gave up the pretense of wearing robes. Your clothes underneath were Muggle hand-me-downs, from your father you said, and they had been trendy three years ago. _You_ could still wear them with style.

It was late by the time we left, but the sun was still blazing in a way that made me think of your eyes. You didn't mention anything about going our separate ways, and so to my delight I was able to stay with you. You had a nice-looking Muggle car that we sped to your house in; your friend Lily called you a lead-foot more than once.

You lived in a veritable Gothic mansion in an area so old that many houses had been turned into tourist attractions. Several people took pictures of me, still in my robes. Some of them took pictures of your beautiful little sister, who brandished an award-winning smile that was the resemblance between you. We retreated inside the safety of the gates and lay lazily on the lush grass and watched the sunset and, later, the stars. In that moment I was as young as any of you and my presence was accepted. It was then that I knew how to be content.

Our midnight supper was a pizza from a Muggle takeout and we parked ourselves on the ten-foot dining room table, groaning at our gluttony. You brought your sister to bed and soon your friend Lily went as well. We were the only ones on the long table now, and by an unspoken whim went to the ballroom, the site of where you wrote many of your letters.

You asked me to dance with a laugh and that smile of yours and we danced to the sound of the crickets. You mused upon the many people who had danced here before and sang for me in a voice that made everything in the world good again. There was nothing outside the ballroom that mattered, for inside there was you, and you were singing for me. I laid my head on your shoulder as your strong voice lifted towards the heavens and this time, it was you who kissed me.

When we were back at Hogwarts, we lived on those moments of heaven and smiles and kisses and the occasional song. There was no question about what we had, for again you didn't try to understand it when happy oblivion could explain it away, and it was the highest point of my life that I could join you in it.

I would have lived life forever that way you know, with the empty classrooms and walks on the grounds at night and our spot in the Forbidden Forest. Those outings made up the most part of our relationship and I wouldn't have had it any other way.

You left Hogwarts early, a predictable course, and nearly didn't take your NEWTs. I brought them to you and after you took them, we went to bed together. It was the only such intimate time between us.

We spent the summer together, with visits from your friends. The look on your face when you were holding Lily's baby was one of the things I treasure to this day. You would have made an excellent parent. Maybe you already are one.

At the end of the summer, I went back to school and you went to Muggle university, a hard thing to wangle for a wizard. You wanted to become a lawyer, and you couldn't have picked a better career for yourself. We wrote each other the same way we had before and spent holidays together.

You told me everything in your letters. Your professor at Oxford said you had better go into the kind of law that needed the most manipulation. You had become a Death Eater, probably not of your choosing more than Voldemort's. You were appraising wizarding wealth for a Ministry project to initiate bail. You had met Narcissa Malfoy and she was very nice.

With the mention of Narcissa Malfoy, I decided to myself that our relationship was over. I never told you, but I think you knew it because you started to have an affair with Narcissa and I latched on to Bilius Weasley. We met later at the Longbottoms' New Year's Eve party, but you were playing with their son Neville in your maternal way and I was playing canasta. You smiled at me then, and that was enough. Whoever said it's hard to get by just upon a smile was _wrong_.

After a friend of yours was murdered and another joined the Dark side as well, you told me that you'd had enough and you became a spy. You came to Hogwarts occasionally, and was civil.

With the death of the Potters, you were gone. I imagined you had been there with Lily, as you often were, and been killed as well. We left you for dead and that was the end of it. I cast you out of my mind and tried to forget your eyes and your voice and your award-winning smile, the one that no one would suspect you had.

But a smile like yours isn't the kind you can forget–even when it belongs to a snarling unjust Slytherin professor with a big nose and greasy hair.


End file.
